


Apocalypstick

by Daxii



Category: Free!
Genre: M/M, Makoto Birthday Exchange for Procrastinators, apocalypse au, nipple tassles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 00:51:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5227598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daxii/pseuds/Daxii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Are they gay? Aren't they gay? Who knows?! They don't!</p><p>Seijuro meets Makoto on a night out in their war-torn world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apocalypstick

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Meatball](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meatball/gifts).



Seijuro hears the bell ringing again, coming closer to where he's leaning on the wall outside the bar he's working at, smoking the last of his cigarette. He's cutting it way too close to curfew to risk being out here - if the marshal catches him they'll all be busted. He needs this place to supplement his rations more than he needs the end of this fag. He stubs it out on the wall and makes to slip inside the doorway, windows all blacked out to keep it secret, when a hand grabs his arm and tugs.

"I remember you from last week," a sleazy voice says into his ear, far too close for comfort. "I know a couple ways you can get another meal on your table this week."

It doesn't take long for Sei to realise that one of these "ways" probably revolves around this guys dick, and the other around his own asshole, and he politely declines.

"Don't fucking touch me. I'm here for the ladies."

He yanks his arm away, crunching his funny-bone on the side of the wall in sync with the bell ringing again, even closer now.

"We need to be inside. Go and bother someone else. If this place gets closed down -"

"Excuse me! Over there, gentlemen! I'm going to have to ask you to get off the streets," the officer, in all his state-issued neon, rounds the corner and clocks them.

"No worries, no worries," Sei's seducer waves his hand in dismissal. "Just getting my Mrs here in line."

"I said don't _touch_ me," Sei backs off. He should go for the door but then this marshal's going to clock one on the bar and he's screwed even harder than if this guy gets his way with him.

"Is anything the matter here?" the marshal's face frowns in concern. He's not part of the police or the military, he's just a volunteer from the camps, doing the cops' jobs at getting everyone inside after dark. This isn't his fight.

  
_Buuuut_ , aiming for his side is a better option than the door, and he's built enough to maybe throw a punch if need be. He takes two long steps over, trying for a pained, scared, glance at the marshal and hoping he understands. The hardened stare he turns on this scumbag is all the answer he needs.

"He's clearly not interested. You need to get yourself inside. There's room at the shelter if you need it."

The man huffs, but he's clearly not interested enough in Sei to fight for his prize (or at least risk a night in confinement) and stalks away, grumbling. The marshal turns to Sei, green eyes softening with a smile.

"Are you alright? Do you want me to walk home with you?"

"I'm fine, and I'm just in there anyway," Sei gives a general nod to the row of houses the bar is hidden in. "Thanks, though."

Another bell rings not so far away and the marshal rings his. Sei cocks his head in question. "Just our way of saying we've cleared the streets, guess my run is over now. Do you know what time it is?"

"I think it's almost ten," and his shift starts at half past.

"You know..." he looks down, nervous? Sei's confused. "I know of one of those speakeasies not too far from here..."

Seijuro snorts. "I thought you guys were supposed to be getting us _home_."

" _Off the streets!_ " he corrects. "As long as you're not out to get mauled, my job is done."

"Thought you were obliged to report this kind of thing?"

"Not when I'm off duty. Name's Makoto."

"Sei," he shakes his hand. "I know the one. Let me get you a drink. I'm glad you showed up when you did."

Makoto screws his high-vis overalls up and stuffs them in his satchel so he's inconspicuous in his green tee and ratty jeans. Sei smirks to himself, in quite the opposite boat with having his jeans and jumper covering up his rather more skin tight uniform. They slip into a booth with their home-brew. The place is always pretty quiet when it's the guys on stage and not the girls.

"So, hows your world going, with all of this?" Makoto asks. He's just being polite but Sei really can't take it.

"Not... great," he frowns, overcome by a pang. Makoto sets his hand on his arm.

"I know we just met, but I'm a great listener."

And he saved his butt, so Sei's feeling more trusting than usual. "I was a swim coach. Our place was taken out in the Spring air raids... not much use for me anymore."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. Wait, was that...?" Makoto trails off, eyes narrowed in confusion and memories of something he probably heard on the wireless or in a crowd.

Sei just nods. "Lost half our team..."

Makoto squeezes his wrist and lets go. They both know there's no point in sympathy. "And... now?"

Sei shrugs.

He's tactful, apparently, glancing around and changing the subject. "There's lots of girls here tonight... I've only ever been in when it's been crammed full of men."

Sei nods towards the little raised platform - a few pallets raided from a truck and stacked, covered in a black cloth. "They have male strippers twice a week."

"Well, I guess everyone needs some cheering up these days... probably why that guy was hanging around."

Yup, he's a regular, Sei knows.

Makoto's glass is still half full by the time Sei has to head into the back to get ready for his turn on stage. Sousuke's just finished his and stumbled back with a handful of coins and extra ration cards, and there's a ten minute break before his turn. They've spent so much time talking, how Makoto ended up working at the camps after he was separated from his family, dragging his best friend along from his home town with him. Their neighbourhood had been bombed, his best friend left deaf and blind, and his younger siblings with injuries he doesn't even want to remember. He works for the marshal's to keep a roof over his and his friend's head. It's Seijuro reaching out to hold his arm in comfort as his eyes well up.

"I... um, actually have to go now," he says tentatively, rubbing a circle with his thumb on Makoto's arm over a scar he doesn't want to acknowledge. "I... work here."

"Oh, at the bar?" Makoto asks, distracted, oddly focused with looking at Sei's hand on his arm.

"No. On stage. Sorry, I should have said something before."

"I don't judge," he pulls his hand back, trapping Sei's just for a second and squeezing. "It's fifteen minutes, I can wait."

"Yeah, you into that kinda thing?" Sei smirks, gives a teasing nudge to Makoto's cheek with his finger when he stands.

"Don't know until I've seen it, do I?" Makoto quips back.

Sei brushes him off and slips "backstage" - to what's actually a dilapidated kitchen that's been knocked out to make more room. He gets his shoes and socks off, stuffing them inside his canvas pumps and sitting them on the chair, followed by his jeans, roughly folded on top, and wraps the bundle in his jumper to keep it all together, storing it on a shelf next to Sousuke's pile. He's probably gone to the bathroom before coming to get dressed.

He slips the tassles out of the pocket of his jeans and clamps them onto his nipples. He hisses a little until he quickly adjusts to the sensation. His leather shorts, _reeeeally_ short shorts are tight, but wearing them all evening makes them more supple. Then comes the issue of his face, fumbling on top of the counter for the little make-up supply that's kept here. Mascara, some glittery stuff for his cheek and chest, and a bright orange lipstick with his name on that matches his hair alarmingly well.

The stage is dark when he steps on, but he can see the silhouettes of the crowd around it. The smaller female forms pushed to the front with the guys who want a look too at the back and sides. They're not his favourite part of the show, but he agrees with Makoto - everyone needs something.

His routine is like auto-pilot. Step here, spin then, thumb inside his waistband every time someone starts looking bored. He scans the crowd, looking for those with money on show to pay special attention to, and then he clocks him.

Makoto is right on his left, up close by the stage with an almost dazed look on his face. Sei has to force his frown away, keeping character. Is Makoto... into this? Into _him?_ He avoids the swirl of confusion in his head by sauntering off to the other side of the stage, squatting down in front of two girls who squeal when he opens his legs.

 

Makoto _cannot_ stop _staring_ no matter how hard he tries to correct his face and back off, walk all the way back to their booth and probably grab his bag and escape before Seijuro gets off stage and calls him out. He's not gay, not into guys at all, and Sei's _clearly_ not but -

There's just something too tantilising about this big, broad form and those tiny little pants, the bright orange sequins stuck to his chest. And he's so... Makoto's not sure about _nice_ but he has this raw honesty he hasn't seen in so long that's just sent his simpering desire to get to know him better to a degree he's not felt in _months_.

He feels the burn when Seijuro notices him looking, such utterly unwanted attention from what he _thought_ was his new friend. He feels just as dirty as the guy who'd had his hands on him before. He's crossing all the lines he never meant to.

Sei's music stops and he walks around the stage with his hand out, collecting the small tokens of appreciation and gets to Makoto last, looking down at him and stepping off right in front.

"So it is your kinda thing, huh?" he asks, gruff and... _shy?_  


"No... just ignore me, I was just curious, honest," Makoto can feel his ears turning red, the hot flush spreading all over his face, and knows his excuses are useless.

He gets a shock when He feels a hand in his, tugging, and he follows blindly along behind the stage, Seijuro quickly dropping his hold and crossing the room to rest his head on the wall.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what I'm thinking."

"It's a stressful time... Don't worry. I'll go, if you want me to," Makoto responds, fists clenched by his side so he won't reach out and rub his back.

"No, don't - " Sei whips around and takes a step closer. "I really enjoyed your company tonight... I'm just confused."

"Been a while?"

Sei nods, stepping forwards again and dropping his head to Makoto's shoulder, gently bringing his arms up his back. Makoto returns the hug, wrapping around him loose enough that he can wriggle out.

"It's alright," Makoto tells him, winding one hand up into his shock of orange and gently carding his fingers through. His hair is brittle, all the showering in stagnant water and the poisons in the humid air most evident here than the rest of his body.

He's still just in his shorts, and Makoto's trying not to think about just how much _skin_ he's feeling right now but it's so _hard_ and _he's_ hard and Sei's damn nipple clamps are hard.

"What do we do?" Sei asks. He grips tighter to Makoto's shirt.

"Maybe..." maybe put his clothes back on? "I don't know," is all he says.

It's too big a question.

He keeps hold, waiting until Sei finally pulls away, and when he does his eyes are wet but he has this big bright smile. It's all a bit much for Makoto to take.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry... this is really unexpected. All of it," Sei takes a deep breath and wipes his eyes.

"Me?" Makoto asks.

"I'm not gay," Sei affirms and Makoto nods, agreeing. "But..."

Makoto doesn't want to hear what else he has to say and pulls him back into another hug.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like you can literally see the moment I broke off from writing and saw the news about France on Friday, and this went from a silly AU to a realistic future.


End file.
